Rewind
by Foopadoop
Summary: The streets were free of debris and litter, smaller shops were tidy and spruced up with flowers and fresh coats of paint. The roads were smooth and seemed to be freshly paved, and for the first time in many years, he felt like he was back home. It was all a lie and he despised every second he was here.


The first thing he noticed was how clean everything was. The streets were free of debris and litter, smaller shops were tidy and spruced up with flowers and fresh coats of paint. For once he could smell food- _actual_ bonafide and freshly made _food_ \- the different scents mingling together and filling the warm summer air. Surprisingly, there was no one in sight- the shops, the streets, everything- all empty without a person in sight. Though he could probably guess where everyone was at the moment. The roads were smooth and seemed to be freshly paved, and for the first time in many years, he felt like he was back home.

It was all a lie and he despised every second he was here.

Rough arms tugged him the rest of the way out of the large armored van he'd been in previously, the bulky grey machine standing out like a sore thumb in the nice little town they were in now. The two men that had accompanied him on the ride here stationed themselves beside him, grabbing both his arms and dragging him along down the clean streets. At first he cursed and tried to fight back just for the sake of not going in peacefully, but after a swift punch to the jaw and a knee to the stomach, he begrudgingly complied and stumbled painfully along with them.

"Keep still, stay quiet, and don't cause any more trouble," one of his captors grunted, a taller and broader built man with spiked up light brown hair. Scars criss-crossed underneath the high-tech goggles he wore, the bright green LEDs that acted as his makeshift eyes trained on the shorter man he dragged beside him while they walked. He wasn't dressed like the usual blue uniformed goons he was used to dealing with, instead decked out in a grey vest and slacks with a navy blue button up underneath. He looked like a wannabe thirty year old hipster, to be quite frank, and the captive almost called him out on this before being interrupted by said spiked henchman. His voice became soft, almost sympathetic in nature as he spoke. "You be good, you might get cut a break."

The beaten man only scowled and shook his head, refusing to look at or answer the man. Instead, his other escort briefly spoke up instead, breaking out of his previous stony silence.

"Unlikely."

The prisoner now turned his gaze to his other escort, having to crane his neck until it ached in order to at least catch a glimpse of the other man's face.

At first he kept his dull gaze fixed on the road ahead, his long deep green and violet trench coat fluttering out behind him. After a moment he glanced down and gave his captive a cold glance filled with hatred. A sturdy, metal chin replaced most of his lower jaw, what skin that was able to be seen was torn and littered with nasty scars from wounds given long ago. Those scars stretched up across the right side of his face, growing heavier around his eye. His bright red hair also spiked up and out of his face so as to let others marvel at the marks in all their glory. A cold grey metal eye with a bright red lighted pupil replaced the organic one that once resided there.

It was funny to think he had once been close friends with and had cared about these two scumbags.

"He's a wanted criminal who's killed many of our soldiers, and is second in command to the rebel group. The death penalty is more likely."

Those days of friendship were long behind them now.

The ex-commander scoffed and spat at the tall ginger, unphased by the answer, only to receive another sharp knee to the chest by the man in question. He'd been expecting that, to be honest.

As he was led down the nearly dreamlike perfect streets, a faint noise began to sound in the distance once they began to near the center of town. The faint hum began to grow louder and more angry in sound, that hum soon becoming distinguishable shouts and yells that were so loud, he was sure they could be heard around the world.

Looks like he found the people.

He did his best to straighten up and walk with some form of dignity, though with his injured leg and the pain he was in, it was quite hard to do. He began to make out faces in the crowd- men, women, children- people of all shapes, sizes, color, and age swarmed the streets like a sea of furious bees attacking an intruding animal. The screamed and cursed and yelled, throwing an assortment of items at him while doing their best not to hit the two high ranking men escorting him through. The only thing that prevented these people from leaping on him and tearing him apart were the blue uniformed soldiers that stood in a stoic solid line, rifles in hand and hatred burning in their eyes. The blood red insignia burned into their blazing blue uniforms told of where their loyalty lay, the red turtleneck sweaters bundled under their blue coats and the red sashes round their waists only added on to where they belonged. After all, they had been dubbed the 'Red Army'. Of course, because of their leader, not because of their choice in color scheme, but they might as well look the part.

In the distance, he could see another small group of soldiers circled around another armored vehicle, and he could only guess that was to be his next destination. Oh, how lucky for him. This was what he wanted, though. He had wanted to come here, to make it inside the city and into the capital. Maybe not like this, but he was in either way.

He was so so close to reaching his goal-

Out of nowhere, sharp pain exploded from the base of his skull as something heavy and hard hit him in the head- most likely a rock thrown by one of the angry civilians in the crowd. His eyes rolled back as darkness clouded his mind, and as he sagged in the grip of his two attendants, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the numbing hold of unconsciousness.

….

He's back in the past- not as his younger self, but as the older and ragged man he is today. The portal device he had risked his life to get from a Red Army base was secured safely to his belt, gently hitting his side with each movement made as he rushes at his two ex-friends with laser gun in hand. With each shot the weapon vibrates and bucks slightly in his bruised hand. The strong glass housing the particle displacer glowing a bright green as the liquid inside bubbles, the grip growing warm in his hold with each blast. In the background, the younger versions of him and his friends huddle in fear and confusion behind a charred car, immobilized with with the fear of getting hit and fascination as they watched their future selves fight. Surprisingly, they wouldn't remember this. It would only become a faint memory in the years of adventuring to come.

He keeps coming so close to hitting his desired targets, but they were a lot more nimble and quick than he gave them credit, and he's barely able to keep up and dodge in turn with their own shots. Normally his shot would be more precise, he'd be more mindful of what he was doing, but he was tired...

He was so, so tired of running and doing this stupid game of hide and seek...

There's a singular shot that lands for both parties. He managed to clip the spiky haired brunet in the shoulder, which causes him to drop his gun and spring back out of range of fire. The cyborg, on the other hand, has revenge on the mind- and with that came a precise shot. White hot pain blossomed in his right thigh as he was hit with a laser. He stumbled with a shout and fell, the portal device now crushed under his weight. He could only growl and blink back unintentional tears of pain as the shards dug into his new laser wound, the cyborg stalking up to him with a triumphant look in his singular ocean blue eye.

... d...

"...don't think this is such a good idea..."

He was pacing around in his room, gathering supplies he would need for the journey to the base, his movements uncoordinated and quick as he rushed around his quarters, shoving water and weapons inside a ratty bag he kept under his bed. His mission: steal the portal device from a Red Army base so he could use it to hopefully prevent all of this from ever happening.

An small, humanoid android stood off to the side, rubbing his hands together nervously while the light blue shine of his eyes flitted about as he watched the human's movements. The man made no sound to reply, so the android spoke up again.

"I-I mean, what good will it do? Goin' back in the past, I mean?" the android- no... /Jon/- hummed softly. He remembered, this was Jon. Jon was his friend- one of his only friends. He'd helped him so much, now and even back before the poor lad had died.

"It's not a good idea... They /are/ your friends, E-"

"... _Friends_...?"

Jon flinched back slightly, a frown appearing on his synesthetic lips as the larger man slowly placed his bag on his workbench and began to chuckle. Those chuckles turned into full blown laughs, the man turning and holding his arms outstretched as he met his small friend's gaze.

"What would I need friends for? I don't _have_ or _need_ friends!"

His smile began to falter, his gaze softening slightly as he lowered his arms.

"I- I don't..."

Jon's stiffened form began to relax, soon moving forward to reach out and place a hand on the other's shoulder. When he didn't pull away, Jon pulled him into hug, his arms cold and metallic against his warm skin, but he didn't care. He appreciated the gesture anyways.

He'd been through so much... Both of them had. All these years, stuck fighting in this stupid war- He'd been tested numerous times during his co-leadership in the rebellion, had failed numerous times as well. He couldn't be bothered to recall just how many times he had led people to their deaths under a false presumption, or made a wrong tactical call and screwed them over royally in the long run. He had gained allies, made many many enemies. Had loved, been betrayed by those he loved...

He didn't want to run anymore, he didn't want to keep hiding and fighting all the damn time-

He pulled Jon into a slightly tighter hug, unable to help the silent tears that flowed from his eyes as he held his friend close.

Eleven years of this... Eleven years of this bs...

It was all going to come to an end soon enough.

"I'm so tired, Jon..."

 _... d... d..._

"No."

He stood his ground, doubt and uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he replied, though he held the other man's gaze as he replied in a certain tone. He's a young man at the age of twenty-five, yet while it only being two years into this ordeal, his eyes hold the look of someone much older. He keeps his hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie while he ever so slightly shifts on his feet.

"I'm not going to be apart of this."

"Whaddya mean you're not goin' to join in?!"

The man across from him- Eduardo- widens his brown eyes in disbelief and frustration, fists clenching at his side as he stands from the couch he was sitting on and walks over to continue the conversation.

"The worlds fallin' apart all around us! Those red shirted freaks are gonna take over if we don't do somethin' soon!" he argued back fiercely, his strong Brooklyn accent still sounding strange despite Eduardo having lived in the UK practically most of his life. He still never understood that.

"I don't want to be apart of this mess, Eduardo," he grunted back and shook his head, the young man taking a step forward as he prepared to play on the defensive. He wanted to go back to surviving. He wanted to go back to pretending that everything was fine and that this whole war was going to be a temporary issue that would be fixed soon. Besides, starting a rebellion group wasn't going to help any- the Red Army was too big, their leader (as much as he hated to say it) too smart and too powerful for them to even think of taking on. It was best to leave it to the army to take care of things while they focused on staying alive.

"I don't want any part of it. You do what you want, but don't expect me to jump in and help out with this suicide mission of yours."

"I'm surprised. I woulda thought you'd be all over this. Never took you as one ta run an' hide like a coward with your tail tucked between your legs," the taller man scoffed, though he soon narrowed his eyes and took a step forward as he kept his suspicious and angry gaze trained on him.

"Unless you plan on betrayin' us like your backstabbin' friends?" Eduardo growled in a hushed tone, and the shorter man's eyes widened as he soon found the angry man towering over him. "You gonna go off to join the enemy like your ol' chums Matt an-"

 _"THEY ARE NOT MY FRIENDS!"_

A hushed silence fell over the room, the other two people in the room turning to stare at the arguing males before getting up and quietly leaving. He payed no mind, only continuing to glare venomously at Eduardo while panting in an effort to regain lost breath and calm down.

Matt. That's a name he'd love to forget. A name he was going to forget. Yet another coward to join in in the backstabbing trend.

He grit his teeth and looked away, unable to meet Eduardo's hard and expecting stare.

"...Alright… I'm in."

Eduardo visibly relaxed and stepped back, adjusting the scrap of blue cloth he had tied around his neck like a bandanna before smirking and ushering him over to discuss their next steps.

 _... r-_

Faces click into place and match up with names.

Matt- They're arguing, they're arguing and Matt's in tears and this is obviosly hard for him to do. But all he can be is furious- furious that he's leaving to join him instead of staying here with them where he was safe and wanted. He continues to yell at Matt, he feels so hurt and betrayed and angry-

He leaves. Matt leaves him with tears and hurt shining in those ocean blue eyes with his fists clenched at his sides.

That's the last time he will ever Matt with his face free of scars and metal, and an emptiness that never seems to leave those once bright eyes. And despite his anger and hatred for the man, it will make his heart ache with guilt and sorrow every time he catches a glimpse of him.

 _Fur the er, F u r the r-_

Pictures on a television screen. A now torn and marred familiar face smiling sweetly to them on the television screen. He's surrounded by soldiers that smirk along with him.

"Join us," he purrs, his accent thick, even in those two words. Screams are sounding outside, him and Matt are scrambling around to gather their belongings and needed supplies before they leave their beloved homes for the last time.

"Resistance is futile, you know. Come now, comrades- join with me for a better life, a better future!"

Gunfire sounds in the distance. People are screaming.

"It's never too late! I can promise you, we will welcome you with open arms and keep you safe."

They both rush out the door of their complex and out to Eduardo's waiting car, the door to his apartment left wide open in their haste to escape the incoming onslaught of gunfire and bloodshed invading their once peaceful town.

"I'll be waiting for you."

 _Fu r thER FU T HE R-!_

Tom-

He'd recognize those void-like eyes and spiked up hair any day- he remembered his name was Tom-

Why did he leave? Everything's going to hell and he's leaving! He never gave them a reason, he just up and left-

He thought they were friends, he thought he could trust him-

Come back, _please_ -

 _FUTHER! F U RT HE R!_

They're sitting on the couch of their old home, laughing at some stupid corny movie gore in the horror flick they're watching. He's nestled between Matt and someone else, sipping on a Cola while grinning wildly at the antics on the television. Tom and the other person are bickering lightly over some plot detail, Matt's cowering with his long lanky legs tucked underneath his hoodie. The only thing you can see are those big blue eyes and a few tufts of spiked up red hair poking out from beneath his hoodie, the occasional squeak sounding from the man whenever a jumpscare pops up. Tom eventually gets up to grab another drink, and he calls back something that makes him laugh.

The good old days-

He missed them so much- why couldn't they have those again-?

 _GO BA CK! G O B ACK! RE W IND !_

"Tord, what's going on?" he cries to the man, his eyes wide as he stares at the destruction, confused and afraid and hurt. "I thought… I thought we were friends!"

"Pfft- _friends_?" Tord laughs- the man that was on the couch, it had been Tord, his friend-

"What would I need friends for when I have _this_? I'M UNSTOPPABLE!"

His head hurts, he feels so hurt, why would he do this? He was their friend, why would he-

"Goodbye Edd! Time to go take over the world!"

The house is gone. Tom is hurt. Jon is dead. Tord's shouting back to them, mocking, laughing.

" _Goodbye, old friend~!"_

 _-REW IND RE W I ND REWINDREWIND-!_

Stop.

…

There was a jolt as Edd woke back up, his mind fogged and eyesight hazy as he tried to fight through the splitting pain reverberating in his skull in order to figure out where he was. It didn't take long to do so, though. He began to wake up sluggishly, his mind clearing enough to figure out he was in an elevator that had just taken off. A nice one at that. It was pristine inside, lush red carpet blanketing the bottom and the back wall was made of a sturdy yet decorative piece of glass. Once they got high enough, it went from showing the first three floors' lobbies to showing a perfect view of the capital residing outside the building they were in.

Well, at least he knew he was where he wanted to be.

Letting his head clear, he turned his gaze outside the window to take in the view, his eyes scanning possible routes to take for a moment before gazing out at the town in general.

The city was quite large, surprisingly. Complete with town square, shopping district, a large neighborhood, and what looked to be a park. The people had dispersed from the large crowd it had been and they were instead now tiny blips down below going on with the rest of their day as if nothing had happened.

It was all perfect. Just like it used to be before Red Leader- no, Tord- had taken over. He couldn't be bothered to remember what this city used to be called, and as far as he was concerned, it didn't matter. It was all fake- just a facade to make the people down there think everything had gone back to normal.

He shifted his gaze ever so slightly to look beyond the tall walls encircling the city. Beyond was nothing but grey. Buildings that once stood tall were now charred and crumbling, only an endoskeleton of a deteriorating infrastructure remaining to tell the ghost of a tale of what had once stood there. Rubble littered what he could make out of the small streets beyond- all most likely cracked with the burnt remains of cars and tanks left in the streets like abandoned carrion. Though he couldn't see it from this high up, he knew that most surfaces were covered with graffiti, and there was probably a few people hiding out down there in that mess as well, looting stores and bodies to sell whatever they could to some street market in order to buy food and survive.

It was like that everywhere, every day. Of course, there were much larger settlements like this out in the UK, and he was pretty sure nearly the entirety of all the countries that had been conquered were covered these "safe havens" for the survivors under Tord's rule. The the life outside of this- that's what was real. That's what Edd lived every day and knew to be reality.

One short ride later, he was shoved out of the elevator and lead out into the long hallway on the top floor of the building. The large oak door at the end seemed a million miles away to him, and he couldn't help but shudder slightly in anticipation as they began their walk down. He glanced briefly up to his two captors- now with names to match- and took in their expressions.

To his left, Tom seemed to be helping him along more than shoving him, an anxious frown etched into his aging features as he stared ahead. Matt was a little more rough, the redheaded cyborg keeping his grip on Edd's arm firm as he dragged him on ahead. Both men looked much older than they were- the horrors of war and the weight from everything that had happened in the past eleven years adding on to their tired and worn features.

Edd shifted his gaze to look down at the blood red carpet beneath him as he was shuffled along, eyes unfocused and glazed over as he began to drift off into thought. Looks like the gang was all here again, excluding Tord, of course. He never thought he'd see the day where they would all be in one room again.

If he wasn't bound and still had the means to do so, he would have already shot them both.

Tom gave three sharp raps to the large wooden door upon their arrival, and Edd jerked back to attention at the loud noise. A muffled approval for entrance sounded from the other side, and the black eyed brunet took the lead as he shoved it open and led Edd inside the large and daunting office. Edd steeled himself as his two ex-friends greeted the man inside before leaving, gritting his teeth as the heavy door closed behind him. A heavy accented voice echoed from in front of him, tone sad and melancholy as the infamous Red Leader spoke up and came into view.

"Edd… I had hoped we would never have to meet again..."

Tord did not look like the proud and power-hungry young man he was on the television all those years back, or at least, he didn't at the moment. He looked tired and disheveled, his one good grey eye red and bloodshot. Bags underlined his eyes as well, indicating he probably hadn't slept well in awhile, if at all. Long dusty brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail with strands sticking out here and there, though he had left his bangs alone and still styled up in that damn signature devil horn style. He, like Matt, was also very scarred- nearly the entirety of the right side of his face was ate up with old burn scars and jagged tears that ripped across the surface. the right corner of his lip was mangled slightly, leaving him stuck in a permanent half snarl. If Edd looked close enough, he could see the light glinting off his slightly exposed pearly whites.

He watched as Tord made his way around his large desk to where Edd stayed knelt on the ground, his fur-trimmed officer's coat swishing out behind him as he approached. Once he reached his prisoner, he tentatively extended his right hand, the light bouncing off of the metal fingers of his red cybernetic arm. But after a moment of no reaction, he sighed softly and pulled back.

This was not the cruel and blood thirsty tyrant he had heard about. This wasn't the man that had sent armies to slaughter thousands of the Resistance's men and mercilessly burn down settlements with people still inside. This was an exhausted and sympathetic and shabby man with sadness in his eyes and grief in his tone, not the ruthless ruler of a violent army of terrorists.

His show of weakness was making him sick to his stomach, and it was getting harder to ignore the annoying twinges of old loyalty and care that were trying to resurface. Absolutely pathetic.

Edd spat in disgust and hefted himself to his feet, leering at the man he once called friend and letting his cold eye meet the other's. Tord said nothing, only stepping back and meeting his glare with the same soft and weary expression.

This was it. This was what he'd been waiting for.

Time for the final battle.

"Hello, _old friend_."


End file.
